Mars is Bright Tonight
by Kore-of-Myth
Summary: Not all the fighters in the Battle of Hogwarts were incredibly close to Harry. Here is Lavender Brown's view of the events. In response to my 'Planetary Prose' challenge on HPFC and RL.


_**5/22/08 - edited and reposted.**_

_This is in response to my own 'Planetary Prose' challenge. I am not J. K. Rowling, and claim no ownership to these characters._

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Mars is Bright Tonight

_War:_

It was funny how some things were named. For instance, Lavender had been taught how to play the card game War by her grandmother, when she was a little girl.

It was a game of sheer luck that took forever to play. Lavender didn't realize that at the time but instead enjoyed the rhythmic slap of the cards, the old person scent of her grandmother, and the shouts of _war!_ that occurred during the game.

Those were the times that Lavender considered herself innocent and naïve – she'd always been naïve – not like how things were now. Now Lavender knew that war meant pain, and heartache and worry and no time for the games of the young. War meant lying in bed in the middle of the night hoping you'll not be found – not the hope that your card trumps the next. War meant the screams of _Avada Kedavra! _and _Crucio!_ around you, as you ducked and squirmed and yelled in agony– not the tickle fight that occurred when you lost your card game.

Now Lavender is not fighting her dear grandmother for the last toffee but instead crazed megalomaniacs for her freedom and life.

No one had ever told her that war was a horrible, skidding mess of chaos, always eager to snatch up another person into it.

_Lust:_

She knew he didn't love her and it was only lust. Well deep down Lavender knew – but she kept on with her act, talking about their love for each other when everyone knew that it was just lust.

Everyone knew that Ron loved Hermione – Lavender tried to be content that he only felt lust for her but she couldn't. Despite being blonde, she wasn't really shallow. All she had wanted was to be loved like the way her father loved her mother – like the Muggle romance novels she had snuck in the bottom of her trunk – like Ron so clearly was in love with Hermione.

Lavender knew it was lust when he pulled her into the broom closet and they snogged madly, not able to keep their hands off of each other. Lavender knew it was only lust when he kissed her so hard she saw fireworks. She knew it was only lust when she caught him staring at Hermione as she was talking to him about when next they should meet up.

When he didn't come back for seventh year, Lavender was able to move on easier then she thought she would. She was busy anyway – she helped those she could who had suffered under the Carrows' torture. She hid supplies in the Room of Requirements – and hid out there herself at times when the school became too much. Neville practically lived there anyway – the more the merrier as he always said.

Those days - funny, she'd been lounging there with Neville just this afternoon – were far from her mind, as she dodged and screamed and cast. Lust is the farthest thing from her mind as she took down one Death Eater – now two, now three, four, five…

Unexpectedly it hit her mind as she ducked behind a pillar, aiming curses at Bellatrix Lestrange, who was standing at the opposite end of the atrium. Bellatrix displayed a horribly twisted side of lust, as she manically threw Cruciatus, after Cruciatus at random people. The Death Eater got a euphoric feeling off causing pain to others – no matter at who or how.

It fascinated and sickened her at the same time – not unlike the Blast-Ended Skrewts Hagrid had bred all those years ago. Bellatrix's blood lust was unlike anything she'd ever seen – as she watched in accepting horror, casting hexes no longer, she realized why it felt so similar. Lavender saw that it was a type of lust, the kind that was awful and insane – not like the somewhat innocent, clumsy thing she and Ron had shared just a year ago.

And Lavender knew it was the same kind of lust in Greyback's eyes that was in Bellatrix's when he jumped on her.

_Frenzy:_

It's a blur as he attacks her. All she see's is his horrid face muddled with scars as her wand is pushed out of her hand and down, down, down to the floor below, through the banister that she's also dangerously close to hitting.

Lavender tries to fight back but she's not been eating much and she's not as strong as he. She still kicks and squirms as he grabs and punches and pulls, trying to bite her and _oh god,_ he smelled awful and the colors blurred.

She kicks out madly and hits the banister accidentally. Slightly free, though he's still attacking, clawing, pulling, she uses the last strength she has to push the two of them to the side and then they're falling down, down, down as the screams and shouts and spells fill the air.

_Helm:_

She lands and her body flops. Her head's pounding, and she's hears a crack and if Lavender was more conscious she'd realize it was her ribs. She's not all in her head though as she sees something dashing towards her so very fast. It looks like a grey animal with long teeth snarling at her – she can't think clearly, she's seeing dots. She's out of energy and Lavender realizes her ribs hurt, and _it_ is about to descend on her.

With a blast that echoes awfully in her ears, Lavender's attacker is thrown away from her. She hears a crack as he hits the wall opposite, and the sliding of his what, fur? as he slides down.

Though her ribs ache and her head pounds, Lavender struggles up to see her savior. She's almost gone but she see's one of the last people she'd expect to save her – the helm of bushy hair, trails away through the dark screaming halls. It's the last thing Lavender sees before her vision swells over and she collapses.

_Blood:_

Days later, Lavender walks the halls where they had fought. Hogwarts is still a mess – no one has really thought of putting things back together. People are out on the grounds, rejoicing and mourning. Lavender thinks it an odd combination, but that may be because at the moment she feels nothing.

Yes, her ribs still itch from the wrappings Fleur Weasley hasmade her wear, and Lavender's head aches. She's also doing all can to not grab those scars and tear them open again.

Yet, Lavender finds it so hard to feel a feeling other then numbness. She knew people who'd gotten hurt, who'd died, and yet she can't muster up a single tear or even the opposite emotion, cheer. So she walks through the collapsed halls even though her body is in agony and protests.

She's already been to the Gryffindor common room – it's filled with slumbering soldiers. Lavender is surprised it survived the explosion – the North tower didn't and neither did Fred Weasley. Lavender would like to shed a tear for him – heand George always had a way to brighten people up.

Lavender keeps on walking, passing a stairwell to the dungeons that has caved in. She's heard that Head- no, just Snape died. There are rumors that he was actually on the Order's side, but she hasn't partaken in the gossip, so she has no idea. She'd ask Parvati – if she knew where she was, or even if she'd survived the attack.

She still feels numb, yet she keeps walking down the rubble strewn halls. Lavender slips on a slick spot on the floor, tumbling downward. Her arms flail wildly in the hope of saving herself yet she hits the ground hard.

Lavender's been through worse the past year, yet she lies prostrate on the floor taking deep breaths to calm herself. Her head is resting on her wrists and she realizes it's the first emotion she's felt since she woke up in the Hospital Wing, with bloodied wrappings on her.

It hits her then that she's been hiding her emotions ever since then. Is it truly easier to become an emotionless automaton? Wouldn't it be better to mourn those who had fallen and the tragedy of this war rather then do nothing and be as emotionless as the rocks? Wouldn't it be better to remember those who're are gone, and the great things about them, then shove them from her thoughts eternally?

The ground is covered in blood, yet Lavender pushes herself upward, and rights her robes. She ignores the blood stains, and turns, going back to the grounds. There are tears dripping down her face, yet Lavender keeps walking.

She is a Gryffindor after all – she's not as shallow as they all believe. People move on.

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_A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please take the time to review, and let me know what you think!_


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